and Wooster novel but usually they follow a set pattern. Young Bertram
wakes up with a lulu of a hangover but this is set to a backdrop of
Jeeves being in a huff with the young master.
You see, he stepped out high, wide and handsome the previous evening
in a Herringbone jacket that clashed with his spats. And what with
Jeeves being a real stickler for the correct evening attire, quite
rightly he is somewhat reserved in his dealings with the Wooster chappy
the following morning. The hangover pick-me-up is served, but it is
done so with an air of grievance and aloofness.
Next thing however a telegram arrives summoning Bertie and the
Gentleman's Gentleman supreme, to a country seat where the young
gadabout gets roped into a romantic situation of sorts by a mentally
imbalanced popsy who is invariably called Madeline or Ermintrude or
Evangeline or such like.
These poppets always but always reckon they can mould our immature
social butterfly into a serious young man who writes poems, which start
with the line, yup you've guessed it; 'Across the pale parabola of joy.'
By the end, Jeeves (who has still not forgotten about that
herringbone jacket clashing with the spats) gets Bertram out of trouble
and away from the attentions of the young damsel and in return young
Wooster, full to the brim of thanks, sends the Herringbone jacket into
the local OXFAM shop or Bob Geldof's tailor, whoever is nearest to hand.
For his part, Jeeves, modest to the end attributes his magical
powers and super sized brain to the eating of oily fish (good for the
grey matter apparently) and reading up constantly, on the works of
Spinoza.
So where was I? Ah yes, crossing this parabola of joy. Since May
22nd just past, this leisure activity has been vigourously pursued by
Rangers fans across the globe and basically turned into an art form.
Wherever a parabola has been sighted, your friendly neighbourhood
bluenose has been only too willing to cross it.
Hell, the Glasgow Fair was scarce upon us and that parabola, once
pale, was now a vivid shade of royal blue. The yahoos were in
Bratislava you see and on the receiving end of the most humiliating
result that any Scottish (okay then Irish) side had ever encountered in
half a century of European competition.
This was marvellous to behold. Wee Gordy's first competitive match
in charge and the wee non Celtic Minded chap, who will always be
treated with mistrust by a sizeable percentage of the bhoys against
bhigotry, had outdone all their previous efforts in Europe.
If that wasn't enough, his charges managed to leak four goals at Fir
Park on the first league Saturday of the season in what was looking
like another case of Motherwell Deja Vu #2.
This was the stuff, the yahoos on the ropes and not in the best
shape or mood with that first visit to Ibrox on league duty but a few
weeks down the line. And best of all, with the yahoos out of Europe and
Rangers all but securing their place in the CL proper, with all the
attendant monetary treats that go with it, what a nice position for all
us bluenose 'parabola crossers' to be in as the Old Firm weekend
approached.
Yet this weekend as we stand upon the threshold of this first,
vital, Old Firm league encounter we approach it with, if not outright
dread, then some considerable caution. And the most galling aspect to
all of this is that we are in this state (unbelievable as it is to me)
because of out own failings and incompetence!
Depending on your mentality, your pint is either half full or half
empty, and when OF day comes along, as a member of either tribe, you
usually tend to believe, hope against hope and so forth. Not that I
reckon we're already as good as down and out for this Saturday's
fixture. Not by a long shot.
So does yours truly believe we can whack the mhanks this weekend? Of
course I do and there are many compelling reasons for saying that. But
we also have to look at and confront our many, glaring weaknesses.
Now, you can dear reader dismiss last week's shambles at Pittawdry
out of hand if you want, but I think this match was a glaring example
of a deeper malaise running through the squad. And that malaise begins
and ends with the manager's deployment of certain players in certain
positions.
I don't think for a minute that I know more about football than our
manager. Fact is he's forgotten more about the beautiful game that I
will ever know, but I do know the following for a fact; Shunting a
central back to full back to accommodate a lesser quality central
defender in the centre of the team, when you have a recognised full
back sitting on the bench is a recipe for disaster.
So back to Saturday's game as I said earlier it beggars belief that
we can go into this match on the back foot but that's what has happened
and we now need to dig ourselves out of the hole we have made for
ourselves.
Tell you what, if we manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of
victory at the weekend, and defeat the following midweek to part time
Cypriot dross is just not an option, then no amount of oily fish,
reading up on Spinoza or even the appointment of Jeeves himself will be
able to help deflect away the flak that will surely come the manager's
way.
Go to it Alex McLeish, make us 'Believe' once again.
The Govanhill Gub